Weep, River

thoughts knot up in head

a bit of time dies with time

a lot of wisdom dies with time

a few musafirs, a bunch of gypsies 

and a listful of nomadic tribes also die out

while roving with their shadows, 

because the streets are private property of civilization

shantih is a private property of law

the green valleys have boundary walls

and they kill you if you cross

and they kill you if you eat fruits from their trees

and they kill you if you eat birds from their skies

(it doesn't really matter that you love the birds and that the birds love you too. loving and eating are not linked all the time though living and eating are.)

and now there are clouds 

and the winds are strong

and dead people howl from the skies

and live ghosts howl from the earth

the skies won't rain fire for a while

and the earth won't bleed for a while,

a tiny bit while

but that's good enough for the shadows

to feel good for a while

and play around the silhouettes in sunlight

the walls will still be there

storms will break it 

and then they'll build new walls

and roaming the world will still be a crime

as will stealing fruits and birds that belong to other humans 

but the ghosts - they'll still howl

and the silhouettes - they'll still dance dances of hanged men

and the guns smuggled out by Rimbaud will still kill us, kill them

and Giordano will leap out from his stake

and he'll leap on the killers of wisdom forever

and Lorca will play a flute from his unmarked graves

and he'll play for all the unnamed humans sleeping in all the unmarked graves of the world forever

and sweaty heaps of coal will blaze their songs out from all boilers

as the ship goes down

with all its walls, 

and with all its humans caged behind all its walls

the hills might be all blasted down for gold and money

and the woods will be gone to make way for progressive leaps of science, technology and coordinate processes of production 

but i won't think of all these now

i'll be Lorca's kid and you'll be the gypsy moon

and i'll tell you to run when the bandits come

and i'll be Rimbaud's spider

and i'll turn into a little kiss and play on your throat

as you sleep; there'll be sunlight on your throat and on your neck and on your whole body

and there'll be some moonlight too

and there'll be some starlight too

and i'll be sunlight and moonlight and starlight and be on your body

and our slave-minds will speak slave-words to each other

and our minds will kiss like our bodies do

and you'll be a river and i'll drown in you

as the shadows get longer, 

come closer

and whisper stuff that we can feel but can't understand

we'll know of the dystopic shivers and ancient tales but we won't have words to speak them. we might have some silence though. 

or we might have a lot of silence

and other sounds - like, say, the sound of cosmic waves breaking against dead radios

the sound if real waves breaking against dead toxin-factories

the sound of rain washing hot blood from hard asphalt 

the sound of unicellular life dividing up

the sound of the archeopteryx as it flaps its wings

because it yearns for the horizons

the sound of the homa-bird as it cries 

because it yearns for the earth

the sound of pens scratching asses of papers as another Stalin, another Roosevelt, another Churchill as they sign on another treaty

the sound of horse-hooves echoing on stormy mango-forests as another Clive charges out against another Siraj

and so on and so forth

point being, homer can only nod

he can't die

and the ship can only go down

it can't kill the shadows with crime and punishment

so weep for the world, Cinderella 

we'll find out your tiny shoe someday

and the gypsies will not die 

and we'll all sing and dance under the open skies someday

and our carnival of death will rage mad in every naked road of the world

and lightning will turn your face blue like it turns the rivers blue

and i'll weep with you because you are beautiful, because the world is beautiful

and because the rivers are beautiful

and we'll weep together for everything that's beautiful

because that's all that there is to this madass badass being and belonging everywhere.